Hugh Gwyeth: A Roundhead CavalierDix, Beulah Marie
History
Hugh Gwyeth: A Roundhead Cavalier
Dix, Beulah Marie
Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction
“Ay, thanks to you,” Hugh replied, and then Ridydale was forced away, so
he lost him in the ruck of horsemen. After that he gave heed only to
edging his own beast forward till they were out upon the highway, where
they found the road so nearly choked with the riders of their troop,
which they presently overtook, that a swift pace was still out of the
question. This was somewhat of a relief to Hugh, for the borrowed sorrel
which he bestrode was of no great speed, and made him think sadly of the
bay horse he had ridden on the headlong dash from the “Golden Ram.”
Frank, however, who was capitally mounted on his roan mare, The Jade, so
named for her wretched temper, lamented all the morning that he had not
space sufficient to show his steed’s fine paces.
About noon, as they passed through the village where Hugh had met with
Butler’s troop, he coaxed Frank out of the ranks and, with an eager hope
of seeing Dick Strangwayes again, headed for the inn. But the place was
filled with thirsty troopers, so the tapsters were too busy to pay much
heed to the boys till Frank tried bribery. Then they learned that the
day before Butler’s dragoons had started southward to capture some arms
at a Puritan country-seat; and, though he looked scarce fit to ride, the
gentleman who had lain ill at the house had gone with them. “Well,
Cousin Dick must be a hardy fellow,” said Frank, as the two boys got to
horse again. “Though, to be sure, all the gentlemen of our family are.”
He flung out his chest as full as possible while he spoke, and presently
got his hat tilted over one ear at a swaggering angle.
Thus the march went on, by south and east, over ground Hugh had already
once ridden at a time that now seemed immeasurable years behind him. He
had let his life at Shrewsbury and his father’s rejection of him slip
backward in his memory, till now he found himself living heartily in the
present. Existence meant not to worry at what was past, but to sleep in
an inn bed or on a cottage floor, whatever quarters fell to the troop,
to eat what fare Sir William’s officers could procure, and through all,
wet or dry, to ride on whither the king led.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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